Cold
by Unseelie
Summary: A brief sketch, the spy returns one evening...


'I am in my chamber. I'm aware that I've been seated here, on the bare stone before the unlit fireplace, for quite some time. A terrible cold has entered my flesh, I feel my bones pressing down, or is the stone pressing up? We're trading chill, the castle offering the deep still cold of ancient, empty places under-earth, my flesh and garments releasing the brittle cold of wind-blown precipices and frigid weather of the air. Odd, isn't it: cold should be cold, one word, one meaning. Apparently I've become accustomed to discerning the finer points of suffering. I'd be more amused by this if I hadn't, attempting to bow slightly in deference to the humor of the ineffable, just discovered how stiff my neck had become.'  
  
'I'm thinking again.'  
  
'Hadn't I promised myself I would stop?'  
  
'Ah, so that's what I was doing down here. On the floor. Quiet. Cold. It's not so bad, all things considered.'  
  
'Ah, which I will not do. I shall simply sit, for a little while, and not consider anything at all.'  
  
...  
  
Sometime after Severus Snape last stirred, externally at least, the house-elves entered his chamber quietly, and with light footfall and no spoken words completed what were ordinarily early evening tasks in other quarters at the school. Cups, phials, the untouched after-supper offerings, clothing for care or cleaning and other items requiring attention were taken away. The narrow, enclosed bed was turned back, the curtains opened in invitation, and a freshly stuffed heating pan was placed between the sheets (the glowing imps contained within rustling hot dry feathers and hissing in complaint of this jostling for a few moments before curling up, resigned, to sleep and radiate gentle warmth). All these housekeeping tasks were completed quickly, efficiently, and soon only one house-elf remained, watching the human occupant with curious regard.  
  
Professor Snape was seated on the hearth, one leg extended, the other folded. His long torso curved forward slightly, apparently prevented from forward collapse by the lucky accident of his having sat upon the hem of his cloak, which was fastidiously closed at the neck and buttoned on at both shoulders. Arms akimbo, head tipped down, Prof. Snape appeared to the house-elf's eyes like an oversize and carelessly discarded child's toy; a puppet released suddenly from its acting role by a hasty master, or a doll abandoned when the play tea-party was interrupted by more important matters, real tea, friends calling, lessons. The house-elf had put away many such toys in earlier employ, and occasionally, since coming to Hogwarts to serve, had seen books left in such a state, but.. but the books were not this similar to lost, abandoned toys, and had not inspired such melancholy and piteous thoughts. So he watched for a moment, and only when the man's pale hands twitched slightly did he remember to act.  
  
"Sir.. Professor Sir?" He spoke quietly, needing to disturb the apparently sleeping man to fulfill his duties but unwilling to cause alarm. "Professor, would be most.. more comfortable to be sleeping in the bed. Sir?"  
  
The house-elf inched closer, and lightly touched the sleeve of Snape's garment where the buttons passed up over the wrist in a regimented line. "Professor Sir", he whispered, and pressed the sleeve again as he waited for a response.  
  
Snape's head bobbed slightly, the dark hair swinging gently, and the touched wrist turned over and was withdrawn closer towards his body. In a moment Snape breathed in deeply, and as he exhaled he straightened his back, lifting his head while gently shaking it, looking towards the ceiling as the parting hair revealed his face. Snapes' eyes, dark and deeply set, looked very tired, lids pale and puffy, underscored by bruise-dim smudges. Looking at those eyes as they were revealed from behind the long unkept hair, the house-elf immediately regretted waking the professor, disturbing his uncomfortable but apparently much needed rest.  
  
"Cold." One word, quietly spoken, then Snape blinked slowly and lowered his head to look at the house-elf who struggled for a response.  
  
"Would Sir.. should.. If Professor would care.. for a drink before.. before bed?" He attempted to reiterate the offer, but fell silent as the dark eyes continued to regarded him.  
  
"Yes. Please. Thank you," Snape said slowly, and stood up carefully. His limbs complained as he forced them to move, joints and muscles stiff with cold cried out small pains, the small pains sang to the ghosts of larger pains, the larger pains began to chant to him, and Snape pretended to ignore the entire chorus of sensation; he leant upon a nearby chair for balance as he tried to remove his cloak one handed, his fingers having difficulty with the buttons at his shoulders.  
  
The house-elf approached with a sherry glass, brim full, on a small tray. Snape abandoned the effort to remove his cloak, half the buttons half-way through the holes, and took the glass in hand. As he gingerly sipped, trying to force his rigid frame to bend over the overfull glass, the house-elf gently tugged at his cloak, motioning him down towards the chair. Drinking hurriedly Snape prevented the sherry from spilling as he allowed himself to be guided to the seat. The house-elf deftly set to work on the buttons of the cloak. Being jostled gently, Snape found it difficult to drink, but found he did not have the energy to manage a proper scowl.  
  
"It's all too difficult."  
  
The house-elf hesitated for a moment, hearing the softly spoken words and wondering how to respond. Snape didn't speak again, and eventually he set the glass aside and rose, and went to the narrow bed. As he removed his black wool clothing, slowly dealing with each button, the house-elf collected the warming pan and took it away with the discarded glass, and let itself out of the chamber. 


End file.
